Aftermath
by Pyro Domi Darkflame
Summary: A look into Snapes mind after the end of HBP SPOILERS
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I dont own anything.. just playing.

Severus noted the usual tugging feeling behind his ears and the slight shifting of his cells as he apparated. Apparition was not quite as unbearable as it had been in his younger years as he had had much time to get used to it but he had never failed to have his mind completely focused on the task and the worry of splinching a body part.

He glanced quickly around the clearing he had come to and noticed the Deatheaters already present. Draco was of course here as well as the others from the attack on Hogwarts. He inwardly seethed at the thought that he had been uninformed that an attack would occur this night. Had he known perhaps.. It's best not to dwell on the matter. What has passed had passed and there would be no repair to the event.

He nodded his head at the young blond who he noted was glaring daggers at him. The boy should be grateful. If Snape had not intervened and finished off the little brats task he would have surely fallen. He quickly returned the glare and was pleased to have the effect he did. The boy had not lowered his gaze and still stood tall but his demeanor had faltered, none-the-less.

With further observation Snape's eyes stopped to rest on Lord Voldemort who was watching him intently with a strange expression on his face. Of course he must already know what has passed. It was his goal to know all that went on with his followers and so he always seemed to be aware of the goings-on nearly instantaneous of their occurrence. The Dark Lord lifted his hand and gave a leisurely motion of the appendage indicating for Snape to move towards him.

He did as was expected and made his way to the miserable excuse of a man called Voldemort. He did not look as well as he should. This disappointed him as well as pleased him. Almost immediately and out of habit Snape's mind walls went up. He pushed the thoughts he wished for the man to read to the forefront of his mind and a few useless thoughts just behind them. The more important of his memories and knowledge was stored safely behind the steel blockades of his mind.

Voldemort turned his horrible eyes on the raven haired wizard, a look of smug approval on his disgusting face.

"Young Malfoy was to complete that task."

Severus tried for a shamed look, bending his head down, his eyes focusing on the mans feet.  
"I'm sorry, Lord, it looked as if things were going to go horribly so I finished him. I did it for you, Master."

Voldemorts eyes gleamed as he watched his servant,

"Very well, Snape." Then the man raised his voice so that the other Deatheaters could hear, "With Dumbledore out of the way we can easily rid ourselves of the Potter boy. I might let you live."

Snape nodded and dropped to his knees. He lifted the hem of the Dark Lords robes to his lips, kissing the fabric,

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you."

Voldemort merely stared down at him. A calculating look on his face.

AN: I've already almost finished chapter two, But i will not post it until i get some reviews... Want more? click that review button!


	2. Chapter 2

"No! There is no _way_, You are going to make me work with that _murderer_!" Harry's outraged voice echoed throughout what used to be Albus Dumbledore's office. McGonagals exasperated sigh followed Harrys words and she stood from her seat at the late Dumbledore's Desk.

"Mister Potter,"

"That's quite alright, Minerva." Came a voice from the portrait Harry was facing, "It is after all Harry's choice." The portrait of Albus Dumbledore said disappointedly.

Harry turned an angry look on the portrait, "I don't believe you! You're a _portrait!_ You were probably _bewitched_! That greasy bastard Killed you because he's a _Deatheater_! Because he's on Voldemorts side! There is no _way_ I'm going to help him!"

And with that the black haired teen stormed out of the office.

Portrait Dumbledore glanced warily at Minerva,

"I'm afraid there is no other soul I can ask. It was a risk revealing the truth to Harry. I am only grateful I did not tell the boy where Severus is staying."

"Albus…" The Headmistress hesitated a moment, "You are… Sure that Severus can be trusted? If he is capable of murder to his mentor, surely he is capable-"

"Minerva." Dumbledore spoke sharply to stop her from continuing, "He did what was told of him and he completed the task bravely. I do not think you are so obtuse as to believe such an act of loyalty to be anything but noble..."

"Yes, yes I am sorry Albus."

The portrait smiled sadly,

"Yes I thought you would understand, Minerva. I will not visit the boy in his new quarters… I fear I will upset him." He said, giving McGonagall a pointed look, "I hope you will check on him somehow?"

Minerva nodded,

"Very well, Albus."

* * *

AN: Yes i _know_ this is really short and I sorry but i promise the next one will be longer! Thanks everyone for the reviews they are very much appreciated! 


	3. Chapter 3

Severus sat alone in his new quarters a glass of Firewhiskey in his hands. He swirled the deep golden liquid around in the glass, entranced strangely with the smoothness of the movement. The normality.

He remembered spending similar moments in his dungeon quarters. Just returning to the dungeons after a long and painfully annoying dinner in the great hall on a Friday night. Of course he knew that really, his life had never been _normal_ but he liked to pretend. In reality he was just a pawn. Someone to play in a giant game of wizard chess. Voldemort on one side of the board and Dumbledore on the other. It seems the old man has lost this game. Voldemort had concocted the genius move to take out his opponent.

Severus shot back the rest of the burning liquid. His head was already clouded but he had no reason to watch himself anymore. His use had run out.

Dumbledore no longer needed him. He was dead. Killed at Snapes own hand. He couldn't even truly rejoin the Deatheaters. Now that the old Headmaster was gone and the Order knowing him to be the murderer, Voldemort had no need for this spy. He continue to be ignored. His power and outstanding rank amongst the other, lost.

He didn't know how McGonagall had found him. He had been hiding out at a safe house in the states. California was so much different from his home in Britain but it was safe. Nobody knew where he was. Not the order and not Voldemort. He had been drunk then too. His guard had been down he and had performed magic, a simple Scourgify on the robes he wore.  
He had no other clothes and was beginning to detest the smell.

That spell had notified the ministry of his presence. He supposed then Shacklebolt would have relayed the information to the order and that is how the new headmistress had found his sorry arse.

What he wanted to know was _why_? Why was he still alive instead of receiving the same curse he had performed on his mentor? Why was he being hid in the castle instead of being thrown into Azkaban?

He would have welcomed death. He would have welcomed a Dementors kiss. Of course he was not allowed that small mercy. Instead he had to live with it.

His wand was no longer in his possession. At this moment it was probably hidden somewhere in the castle and he would have loved to just seek it out, were he able. Had he not been locked in these quarters, heavy wards placed on the rooms preventing him from even attempting to escape.

He had found out the hard way that the wards were indeed formidable. Trying to force his way through the door had resulted in a magical backlash that had him flying a few feet back and into a side table.

Scrambling to his feet he had brushed himself off resigned to his imprisonment.

The how's and why's he was certain were unimportant now. All that his mind bothered to worry about was how much was left in the bottle of Old Ogden's and whether or not he could convince his captors to present him with his potions supplies.

He could easily ask the house elves, who badgered him daily to take care of himself, to fetch him another bottle and he could indulge in another night of intoxication where he could count on himself to drown in self-hate and suicidal despair. He would much rather have his potions at hand, enabling him to brew a large supply of an Euphoric Elixir guaranteed to give him plenty of hours, days maybe, of induced magical happiness, but alas it seems that he would not get what he wanted. He silently cursed Albus for his stupid reasoning and logic and need to protect everyone but himself.

He could have just said no. Could have broken the vow made to Narcissa.

_"Severus…please…"_

The words still haunted him. Yes he suppose he could have said no. Indeed it would have been the easiest thing to do in his position. To turn his back on his mentor and only friends orders- no his pleas, but it would have only proved a waste.

He would have died either way. If not from a Killing Curse cast by either of the other Deatheaters present then by the curse that was working it's way slowly through the mans system, rotting him from the inside out. His hand had been the first to go naturally, as it had had direct contact with the vessel; Salazars ring.

_"Severus, I only ask that you save yourself. Why submit to an unnecessary death? Without you we will have no spy and therefore depleted odds in the war…"_

'Depleted odds. What use am I now Albus? Whether I can bring forth valuable information or not, it would not carry weight with many order members. Quite possibly it would be unheeded for lack of integrity. After all, who would trust a murderer?

With a woebegone glance to the empty liquor bottle, Severus stood unsteadily to collect the second and last bottle in his possession. The Firewhiskey was not quite a kick as the Old Odgen's had been but it would suffice.

He abandoned his place before the dying fire and stumbled to his room, collapsing to one knee on his bed. The drink nearly sloshed out of the bottle; he had made his decent too quickly, but he took no notice of the fact, instead focusing on the undertaking of such a task as climbing atop the bed.

After several failed attempts, the end result was a slouch against the headboard, his legs sprawled out before him, unmoving. The pint of Firewhiskey sat between his legs and he made no attempt to pick it up, as if he had forgotten it's presence altogether.

"Oh bloody hell" Snape moaned the next morning. His muscles were stiff from sleeping against the headboard and his head was pounding horribly. The light shining in from the charmed window making his pain all the more worse.

He smelt alcohol and wondered briefly if he had spilt it all over himself. These wonderings came to a halt when he noticed that the pint of Firewhiskey had tilted over in the night, now empty save for perhaps a shot. There was a large puddle of the alcohol soaked into the comforter.

He got hurriedly to his feet, cursing his pounding head, and set the nearly empty bottle carefully on the bedside table. It would not do well to waste any more of his escape.

AN: Hey everyone thank you so much for the reviews! They mean a lot to me and I hope to see more of them!


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